Better Than Bedfellows
Abby Ebon
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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the copyrights that is – the books I'd be lying to say I do not own those.
Smut: (Sirius/Harry/Remus) be below!
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To Work Again
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Sirius whistles when he gets a glimpse of the sprawling space, but it's Remus who speaks, his eyes glued to the view the windows offer.
"What does this mean, a compliment of some kind?" His words are a low murmur in Harry's ear, wary of the goblin that surveys the towering floor with a sneer of distaste. It is not a compliment Remus fear's to have confirmed, and as its clear enough not the case for the goblins, the disgust Bogrod holds for this view and the fresh air about it is refreshingly blunt.
Harry finds his lips twisting in humor, but does not answer. Goblins have keener hearing then a whisper can escape. The glance Bogrod gives Remus then is both dismissive and it's sort of people of the room but earnestly insightful. Disturbingly so, some might claim, but the goblins have long foresight of whom might come along in the old name of hospitality and friendship – as the building of this tower proves.
"We goblins may be fae of the earth, but his sort is stifled below ground. They'd rather the heights and air." Bogrod nods to Ollivander, to Harry, in a gesture that Harry doesn't mistake to include them all, to include Sirius and Remus.
"I thank you for your hospitality, well met." Harry nods in tactful agreement, and if the huffily defensive goblin slumps a little in ease, Harry pretends not to see it and the others are not near enough familiar with goblins to see it.
"What will you welcome in the 'marrow?" Bogrod asks with a tilted head, Harry had half forgotten just how hospitable the goblins could be, when they put their minds to it. Enough that hospitable could become a curse: entire days could be indulged as wasted at a guest's pleasure, the planning for a guest was plotted for centuries prior, certainly well before Harry had been born. The fae were simply that sort of folk, the goblin's only more so.
"I would tour the vaults, and speak with wizards and witches who work here." A slow blink is the only sign of surprise that Bogrod shows, but he pivots and leaves without a word of complaint or argument.
Sirius, watching as the goblin descend the stairs until he is well out of sight, let's out a soft bark of laughter.
"Wasn't that a bit rude? You telling them what you're going to do in their stronghold?" Sirius isn't lecturing him, but truly curious and amused by the going on.
"It's to be expected, really. Otherwise they'd be giving us a well plotted run around that get's nothing done." Harry smiles for Sirius's sake, uneasily his eyes flick to the sky. Its vast expanse doesn't comfort him, though he's sure the goblins meant well. Certainly he thinks that the oddity is in him alone, for Ollivander stares out into the sky as if all the answers are out there. Maybe they are, but you'd have to reach for them, and in reaching, risk falling.
"Really? I wouldn't take the goblins for the lazy party type." Sirius scratches at his scruffy cheeks, and seeing it, a memory hits Harry with the visual, of Sirius mouth stretched wide around Harry's cock, of that stubble trickling sensitive lower skin.
"You'd be surprised." It's the break in Harry's voice, or some rougher tone, that has Sirius locking grey eyes with green.
Harry can't stop himself from twitching toward Sirius, his breath hitching in his throat with longing, his eyes darkening from bright green of grass to the green of rain wet leaves, lust spreads from his gut to tingle along his spine and limbs. His fingers clench against his palms, seeking control – Harry doesn't even know if that was a memory, or just want.
Sirius is looking at him, he's noticed the swift change that left Harry breathless with lust darkening in his eyes, of course he'd noticed – how could he not notice?
"Harry?" Remus inhales deeply, a dragging sound of primitive – animal - instinct peeking out to play.
Harry wonders, wildly, if Remus enjoys his enhanced sense of smell, the musky scent that comes from sweat and lust and….
And Remus is standing right at Harry's side, his nose tucking into Harry's hair, his neck – the venerable point where Harry's pulse beats in his ears like a roar. Harry can't think about where this is going, only want and react.
Ollivander's silver eyes glint at him in understanding, and with a soft puff of air – like a breath, Ollivander is gone.
A part of Harry is horrified that he's being so obvious about what he wants – no, what he needs, suddenly and blindly he needs what's right in front of him, what isn't being denied to him – he can touch and taste what he sees, have what he wants, but by far and largely he's relieved enough to breathe the word that echoes loose his tensed frame.
"Finally." Remus licks at his neck, his pulse point, his ear. Sirius comes in closer, like a hunter, and Harry is all too willing to be his prey. Sirius licks his lips before the kiss, and Harry meets him eagerly.
When whiskered cheeks rub raw against Harry's skin and lips, he moans, and it's a plea. Remus moves swiftly to remove his clothes – like they planned to do this, and practiced when Harry wasn't looking. Harry has to wonder how many times Sirius and Remus have been together, how many times they've done this - taken another, a stranger, into their bed – how many times it hasn't been Harry?
It near breaks his heart, the desperation that wells up in him, in a surprising rush of heat and need and now, to meet them in their lust; to be the last, the only one ever-after. Its skin on skin, no clothing, not even socks.
Sirius hugs him, arms around and under, fingers scratching at his ass, teasing. Harry feels the bed suddenly on his back, the sheets cool against his burning skin. Sirius climbs atop him, as if it's his right and privilege. Sirius is kissing him, and it's a burn of whiskers and soft lips, when Harry realizes where Remus went.
He arches, groaning into Sirius's mouth, tongues twisting.
Remus laps at his dick, fingers plunging into him with a relish of relief. Harry is a moaning mess, he can't help it, can't seem to convince himself he should be attempting to return certain lewd favors. He can't stand to do more then writhe on the bed covers and beg.
It babbles out of his mouth like a running spring, free and easy.
"Oh! Please, please do this, I want, I want you both, now, please, I'm burning – I need, I want, you, ah!" Some of those pleas, Sirius swallows greedily, but most of them fill the air between pants for breath and restricted movements. Harry doesn't realize that Sirius is holding his hands down until he tries to touch, and feels firm weight instead. Instead of any kind of proper outrage, Harry feels full of want and more and yes, yes this is right, how it should be.
Maybe, Harry thinks dazedly, I'm a bit too into punishment. The thought flees at the hint and hard edge of guilt that would eat at him, consume him, and ruin – this, this need and want and perfection of flesh. How could he have done it? How could he have denied Sirius and Remus this – what felt so right to him? He'd pushed them away, but they hadn't gone, and now they were here and doing this to him and there was no room in Harry for anything else but what he felt they were doing to him.
Remus has his legs pulled up out of the way on his shoulders, his wet mouth on Harry's cock, and his finger –no, fingers now – they wiggle together within his ass, more then one – but how many Harry isn't able to guess or count.
"You want this?" Sirius teases, voice low and thick. It isn't the only thing that's thick, Harry can tell from the press of a cock on his navel, where Sirius crouches.
"Yes, yes, anything – I'll do anything!" Sirius smiles with wicked delight, and straddles Harry's chest and shoulders, crouching over his face, cock looming above Harry's lips.
"Anything?" Sirius dares, and grunts when Harry opens his mouth and proves, yes, anything – his tongue lapping along the length, his own saliva near choking him and if he does drown for this, it's worth it – the feel of hard flesh pressing into his mouth and down into his throat, the dizzying smell and the taste of flesh.
"Harry!" Sirius shouts, and Remus' let loose a growl Harry feels in his bones, and the fingers pressing into him are out, something thicker and hotter by far pressing in by searing inches. It hurts like burning, like tearing, like something within him bursting out. Telling pleasure from pain is then beyond Harry, and there is only this, Remus riding his ass and Sirius fucking his mouth, and Remus and Sirius looking down at him with dark eyes as Harry can only hang on and be here, theirs, for what feels like forever.
Yours, Harry vows to them, to himself: he'll never ruin this, never threaten this feeling, this need and want, this pleasure and pain, never again will he try to push them away – if they want him so much, they can have him!
He comes with fingers twisting in the sheet, his hips shoving up gleefully.
Remus, seeing that – perhaps his face, his thoughts, while being inside him, howls, surging upward like a wave and falling away to pant wolf-like at Harry's side. A rough tongue licks Harry's cheek, then Sirius snarls, pulling away from his neck and chest, moving lower and turning Harry onto his belly, ass raised and exposed willingly. Sirius up rises above him on all fours, and slips inside as if Harry he's home.
Sirius pants and thrusts and Harry struggles to keep his hips up, his arms crossed in front of his face to brace his body for Sirius to use, to plunder, to lay claim on – to keep. Fingers dig into his hips, his thighs, and the thought that he's going to bruise, going to be marked by Sirius, makes him whimper for more – and Sirius gasps and grunts and cums in him, easing out and laying at his other side.
Sandwiched between them, Harry can think of nothing better to do then to sleep.
So he does.
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Harry wakes up to an empty bed and a goblin in his face.
"We wanted to let him sleep, Griphook…" Remus trails off, seeing too late that Harry is wide awake and watching him – them, as Sirius stands dressed in robes at his side. So is Remus, dressed in robes that is – Harry thinks that's too bad, that both of them are dressed and Harry is still in bed and naked as sin.
"Why? Ollivander stated he had requested to wake." Griphook eyes the two suspiciously, clearly thinking them up to no good, and what had they done to Harry that Harry hadn't heard his approach? Harry snorts. He moves under the sheets thrown over his hips for modesty's sake, and catches Griphook's eye. Naked as the day he was born, Harry slips out of the bed, eyeing the sheer curtains and shaking his head.
"You know that joke, Griphook, about wizards and witches being ever so modest for all those clothes?" Harry nods toward Remus and Sirus, dressed and up, looking a bit scandalized but certainly possessive at Harry's state. He's bruised and bitten and Harry knows that without looking in a mirror that his hair is a wild mess.
Griphook blinks at him, slow and wide eyed, and nods as if Harry is imparting wisdom from the gods, which he is, sort of, even if Harry isn't quite a god – yet.
"They are lying liars who lie." Harry waves to the wizards, as if swearing off all sex with wizards and witches for life - and Remus coughs, turning only slightly red under his auburn hair.
Griphook cackles most gleefully.
Harry finally pulls on his robe, slightly wrinkled, and decides – just as punishment for Remus and Sirius to think about that all day – nothing else. It'll also reinforce his words to Griphook, who eyes Remus and Sirius as if considering what – if any clothing at all – is under their robes.
It's a question Harry is certainly asking them with his eyes.
"Is the knowing worth the findings?" Griphook asks then, more serious and somber, eyeing Harry as if remembering the rough look of him. Harry has had fights less violent then he likes his sex.
"Very." Harry purrs with a leer for his wizards.
"As you will. Bogrod reported your asking for the vaults and for wizards and witches to speak with. If you'll follow me, I will guide you, and we have a most interesting curse breaker turned desk banker to meet and speak with you." The hint being that the poor fellow wasn't very good at being a desk banker, and the goblins thought he'd get along better with Harry to follow around. It also implied a great deal of trust the goblins were putting in the young man, to trust him with Harry safely, or indeed to perhaps protect Harry if the need arose.
With the way Griphook eyed Remus and Sirius, the goblin had his doubts to Harry's safety in their hands. They none the less shuffled almost guiltily after Harry and Griphook.
"My thanks be to you." Harry assured, before he took the first step down the stairs. Going down was swifter seeming then going up, so it seemed to take no time at all to reach the main floor and turn the corner from hall into entrance and come face to face with Bill Weasley, favoring black leather pants and boots, sheer red shirt that left nothing to the imagination, long red hair tied back into a pony tail, and a fang earring dangling from his ear.
"Bill." Harry says before he can think, grinning enough to split his face, while he drinks in the sight of one of his best friends – practically family. Then he realizes, no scars, and Bill is looking at him with a confused if willing smile, a smile for a stranger.
"Do I know you?" Bill Weasley asks his smile turning into a slight frown. Harry sakes his head sadly, despair eating at him from within. He can only imagine the look on his face.
"No, I'm Jim, Jim Elder – Griphook told me your name." It's a blatant lie, but save for raising his eyes at Harry, Griphook only nods with a silence. Harry can feel the stares of Sirius and Remus at his back, and moves aside so Bill could see them as well.
Seeing Sirius, recognizing him, Bill takes a step back, hand going for his wand. Harry puts his hand to Bill's wrist before the wand can be put to use.
"Bill." Burning blue eyes glare into his, hateful, and it stings enough that the hurt in Harry's voice flows away with his next words.
"Think about what you're doing, what it means, I am a goblin friend, a guest, and they are mine – if you threaten to harm them, let alone kill or bring the Ministry into this – you'll loose your job and the goblins will never give they or I up, worse, Gringott's will lock the doors." And no one, not even Harry, would be able to get them open and talking to wizards and witches ever again.
"That's Sirius Black." Bill hisses, as if Harry can't see.
"I know. It's not what it seems." Bill eyes a spot on Harry's neck, and Harry realizes what it is – what it must be, what it can only be. Harry doesn't flinch from that gaze, and doesn't dare acknowledge that he feels the sick weight of Bill's disgust.
"Enough." Remus growls from Harry's back, and Harry realizes as Remus shoves beside him that he'd been defending them, standing as if being between Bill and Remus and Sirius would and could protect them – without a wand of his own.
"Didn't your mother explain it to you? Sirius is innocent, Peter – that rat you family had passed down to Ron – he killed the Potters, betrayed us for the Dark Lord, tried to kill Harry Potter." Harry had always thought that Remus was the best Defense professor of the lot he'd gotten, and the lecturing tone Remus takes certainly sends the message home to Bill.
It's sort of wicked that Harry is thinking of Remus using that voice in an entirely different –sexy - way. Harry would obey that voice, and Bill doesn't hesitate to either. Bill folds, head ducking red bangs bashfully into blue eyes, his wand tucked out of the way.
"Sorry." Bill spits to Sirius, taking a step aside. He was surprised, and after nearly a lifetime of hearing only bad things – learning to hate everything about Sirius Black, it can't be expected he'd react well upon first sight.
Sirius goes past without a backward glance, and Remus follows at his back, Harry is last but he overhears Bill speak with Griphook.
"Why did he look at me like that, liker he knew me, like he was disappointed in me?" It's almost a demand, those questions. Griphook has only one answer that makes Harry wonder if Bill could understand it.
"He is theos." That word, it means god, and it's what Harry will become, someday soon, and the goblins know it just as they knew what Ollivander was without a word.
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